Alone at the bar last night
I happened upon another intentionally alone woman.
I wouldn’t say she reminded me of my mother (though similar in age)
but the ease about her – warm and maternal –
drew me in.
Kathy and I chatted easily
    she told me about the karaoke regulars, gave me the rundown of the scene
she stops by every Thursday
    drinks white wine
    a sweet older man named Joe dedicates songs to her
    but she doesn’t sing.  
My forever-mantra (“Everyone can sing!”)
was met with her wry, “Only people who can sing say that.”  
By the end of the night
I’d belted two songs and had three drinks
and Kathy was telling me about her divorce.
Before she asked 
she’d known this was a storyline for me
and she shook her head at my meandering explanation of the marital mess.
“When it’s over, it’s over,” Kathy said. “You already know.”
After she wished me well and paid her tab
I watched her dematerialize into the crowd
like a mystic departing from this spiritual plane
and wondered if anyone else had seen her on that bar stool
or if she was an apparition
just for me.

I downed a fourth drink
sang the shit out of another pop break-up anthem
and walked home
alone.